


Falling Angel

by YamiSnuffles



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, mentions of injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 20:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20318932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiSnuffles/pseuds/YamiSnuffles
Summary: Humans loved in all sorts of ways and over the millennia, Aziraphale had felt them all.  What he'd never felt,  or never realized he'd felt until now, was an angel's love. His own love, for another. He was made of love and made to love and yet he'd never felt this.It's 1941 and Aziraphale has finally realized the depth of his feelings for Crowley, feelings he doesn't know what to do with as he invites the demon back to his bookshop.





	Falling Angel

Humans loved in all sorts of ways and over the millennia, Aziraphale had felt them all. He could feel the sweater warm love of home, the bone deep love of family, and the selfless love that gave to those who needed it. He'd felt the nervous flicker of first love and the consuming fire of passion and the love that endured even when other things fell away. No matter how the word had narrowed over time, Aziraphale knew there were as many types of love as there were people. What he'd never felt, or never realized he'd felt until now, was an angel's love. His own love, for another. He was made of love and made to love and yet he'd never felt  _ this _ . This wasn’t his love for Her or Her creation. He felt simultaneously like he was drowning and like he was walking on air. He was so used to feeling love as an outside thing, foreign to him, that he barely recognized it in himself.

And he was certainly in it now. Love, that is. It was huge. Consuming. It was too big to contain in himself and he didn't want to because it wasn't for him. It was for Crowley.

For all the ways the night had gone wrong, Crowley’s return after so long had been a miracle all its own, especially when Aziraphale had realized with some surprise that their friendship had survived. Then, just when he thought he’d regained a friend only to lose books he’d cared for over the centuries, he watched with wide-eyed wonder as Crowley plucked them, utterly unharmed, from the dead Nazi’s grip.

“Little demonic miracle of my own,” Crowley said casually, as though he hadn’t taken care to save something that was so dear to Aziraphale. As though it was nothing at all, when it was  _ everything _ . Their fingers brushed as Crowley handed over the bag and Aziraphale considered it as a minor miracle that he didn’t drop it with his suddenly numb hand. It might very well have been a literal miracle as insensible of himself as Aziraphale felt at the moment. 

“Lift home?”

It took so long for those words to filter through Aziraphale’s mind that he would have suspected the demon of distorting time if he didn’t know better. No, Crowley wasn’t at fault beyond the currently traitorous act of being Crowley. Aziraphale responded with a small, high pitched noise of affirmation and scurried on in the wake of Crowley’s long, sinuous strides. He was rather caught up in watching a pair of swaying hips and so didn’t notice the rubble in front of his feet until he was tripping over it. A pair of hands caught him at his chest to stop him from falling flat.

“Are you alright?” Crowley asked, one eyebrow creeping high above his dark glasses.

All Aziraphale could think of was the way Crowley’s palms were still holding him up. “What?” Even with all the layers of fabric between, he was sure Crowley had to be able to feel the way his heart hammered. “Yes.” He jumped back half a step and held himself straight. “Yes, just fine. A bit- what is it they say? Shell shocked, I suppose. You said something about a... lift?”

That was just the right thing, apparently, because Crowley was suddenly too caught up in a bout of excitement to question further. “That’s right,” he said. “You wouldn’t have seen yet. I got a car.”

Crowley said it as though it was something quite impressive indeed. Aziraphale had seen cars, of course. Ridden in them also. He wasn’t sure what the hubbub was about but it was clear that Crowley thought it exciting and Aziraphale currently found it quite difficult not to be excited as well. Or, at the very least, to beam at Crowley as he threw his arms wide at the automobile parked just outside of the blast radius.

It was, Aziraphale considered, a nice car as far as such things went. It seemed to suit Crowley with its serpentine lines and glistening black paint. In that way, yes, he could see the appeal of it. Although when he thought of it that way, as a physical extension of Crowley himself, it made what the demon said next a fair bit more difficult to deal with.

“Dunno if you’ve ridden in a car before. Well, must’ve done, I suppose but it won’t compare. I promise,” Crowley said as he opened the passenger door. “Get ready for the ride of your life.”

He gave Aziraphale a wide, devilish grin that did nothing to settle the funny flipping sensation the angel had in his stomach. Thankfully Crowley was already around the other side of the car and so couldn’t see the face Aziraphale pulled as he swallowed hard over a suddenly dry mouth nor the slight shiver as he slid into his seat. He settled his beloved books carefully on his lap and offered Crowley a beatific smile to show his thanks once more for the rescue. There was a curious twitch at the corner of Crowley’s mouth that Aziraphale didn’t have time to consider because Crowley took the closing of the passenger door as an invitation to press the accelerator flat to the floor.

Although Aziraphale had not himself driven an automobile he had, as previously noted, ridden in them before. At first the speed had been a bit startling when one expected them to travel along more like the carriages that preceded them, but the initial shock faded when he had some time to get used to it. He was quite certain he would never get used to the way Crowley chose to drive. He was also quite certain no one was meant to hurtle down the road at such a speed.

Aziraphale clung to his books as though the miracle that had protected them would extend to him. He would rather not be discorporated just when he’d finally started to realize what it was he felt for Crowley, even when Crowley was currently doing his utmost to change those feelings. It was such a harrowing affair that he forgot all about the bombs that were dropping elsewhere in the city. He prayed for the ride to be over and, suddenly, it was.

He’d have launched himself out of the car if he had any feeling in his legs. He actually had to pat himself down to assure himself that everything was still there. Once certain he still had legs to stand on, he pulled himself out of the car. He took a single, wobbling step toward his shop before he had to brace himself.

Aziraphale could feel the rake of Crowley's eyes, even from behind those dark glasses, bringing that squirming feeling back to his gut and a flutter in his chest.

“You sure you’re alright?” Crowley asked. “I can hang about a bit, if you need me to.”

Aziraphale felt his heart thud in his chest. He felt betrayed by his corporation but it must have only sounded deafening to him because Crowley didn’t seem to have noticed. _ If you need me _ . Need. Want. All of the above, really. Aziraphale knew what he ought to say to the offer given their respective sides in things, but nearly six thousand years in was hardly the time to start doing what he ought in regards to the demon. So instead, fingers numb again, he shifted his grip on the bag of books and nodded slowly.

“Yes, ah, probably would be for the best. For your sake, that is,” Aziraphale quickly amended. “What with the bombs, and the, er… well, the shop has a good solid foundation. I don’t know if the same can be said of- of wherever you’ve been all this time.”

Crowley shrugged and waved Aziraphale on. Right, he was probably expected to go into his own home first rather than hang back to watch Crowley walk in. He only just resisted the temptation to trip over the curb so that Crowley could catch him once more and opened the door.

Once inside the shop, Aziraphale released a breath he hadn’t even been aware of holding. It was dreadfully good to be back. There was nowhere else that Aziraphale felt so at ease. He supposed he should feel that way when he was in heaven to give reports but he could never shake the weight of expectation that hung on him there. Here he had his books, his chairs, his collection of snuffboxes, and a space that shaped itself to it him rather than the other way around.

“We just gonna stand in the doorway all evening then?”

Aziraphale nearly jumped out of his skin. Since he had stopped almost as soon as he’d entered the shop, Crowley had been forced to stand close behind if he wanted to be inside and Aziraphale swore he could feel Crowley’s breath on his neck when he spoke.

“Yes. Right.” Aziraphale did his best not to look over his shoulder to follow Crowley’s progress as they went deeper into the shop. He hung up his hat and heard Crowley do the same, inviting Aziraphale to spare him a quick glance. “Drink?” he offered as he finally set the case of books down. “I have a bottle of  _ Cheval Blanc _ I’ve been meaning to open.”

Crowley fell boneless onto the sofa. “Yeah, sure.”

It was quiet- miraculously so. While Aziraphale didn’t want the sounds of war invading his little sanctuary, he also decided he didn’t want silence. Silence invited thought that he wasn’t prepared for at the moment. His gramophone came to life with a snap of his fingers and the delicate sounds of a piano and violin piece by Edward Elgar filled the air. Aziraphale focused on that as he dug the wine and accompanying glasses from one of his back rooms.

When he returned, he found Crowley had somehow managed to sink even further into the sofa, one arm draped over the back and both legs out at different angles. Aziraphale did his best not to catch on any of those long limbs as he handed over a glass of the  _ Cheval Blanc _ . Aziraphale thought better of the impulse to take a seat next to Crowley and instead settled into his favorite chair.

“To a timely rescue,” he said, lifting his glass.

“All I did was divert the bomb, angel. As I recall, you were the one who saved us from the paperwork that would have brought.”

“To my books, then,” Aziraphale pressed, refusing to cede the point entirely. “Those certainly would have been lost without you.”

Crowley shrugged but raised his glass all the same. Aziraphale beamed and tipped back his glass. It was clearly a night for miracles because in no time at all they’d fallen back into an old rhythm. Aziraphale had no idea how he did it, but with a word or two, Crowley got him talking. He wasn’t even aware of it until he found himself in the middle of discussing all the delights that had come through his life in the past eighty odd years. There were blessings that had blossomed into friendships and fascinating new authors. Had Crowley read this? ( _ No, don’t pretend you don’t read, dear. I’ll loan you my first edition. Well, perhaps not loan but you’re free to visit anytime to read. At least you have the manners not to try buying anything.) _ Then there were all the new restaurants that had sprung up. ( _ Have you been to the Ritz? It’s been about for decades now. No? Oh, you absolutely must visit sometime. _ )

A small, dreadfully daring part of Aziraphale wanted to suggest they dine together. Or do anything together, just the two of them. During the course of their conversation, Crowley had removed his sunglasses and Aziraphale was struck all over again by how beautiful the demon’s honey gold eyes were. Or how lovely his legs, a fact Aziraphale noted every time Crowley threw them out with long practiced abandon in a challenge to what might properly be called sitting. Crowley’s hair, his fingers, his everything- Aziraphale wanted to drink it all in more than he wanted even the finest vintage of wine.

But he didn’t dare say any of that, nor mention how he dreaded when Crowley would eventually take his leave. As it was, it took emptying another glass for Aziraphale to feel bold enough to touch what was really on his mind. Once it had been drained, he had to set the glass aside because suddenly his hands were shaking. He folded them neatly in his lap to hide the way he trembled.

“Wherever have you been?” he asked in a voice nearly as tremulous as his limbs. He took in a long breath through his nose and willed himself a bit of bravery. “It’s been a rather long time since we last talked. I wasn’t sure if…”

His voice died as he considered finishing that sentence. He’d need more liquid courage, it would seem. Unfortunately, Crowley didn’t let it drop.

“Wasn’t sure if what?”

“Well, we had that dreadful fight.” Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “When I saw you again,” he said, forging quickly onward, “I wasn’t sure if you still considered me a friend. Not that we are friends, of course. That would be absurd. An angel and a demon. Hereditary enemies and all. That would be ridiculous. But, you know, we had the Arrangement and all.”

He stumbled quickly through all of it, not giving Crowley time to interrupt or dispute any of it. Then, when he was finished, he was horrified when he didn’t get an immediate answer. Instead Crowley stared at him. Somehow, for as much as Aziraphale wished them uncovered, he always forgot how intense Crowley’s gaze could be that way. Heat crawled up the back of Aziraphale’s neck. He didn’t know if it came from being the subject of Crowley’s undivided attention or nerves over how the demon might respond. Probably both.

Aziraphale regretted bringing up the fight. What if Crowley was thinking about pressing the matter of the holy water again? There was no way that Aziraphale could agree. He still remembered perfectly the way the ground had crumbled under his feet when he’d read what was written on that scrap of paper. Crowley gone? Utterly and completely gone? It had been bad enough then. Now that Aziraphale felt- that he realized- well, it just wouldn’t do, a world with no Crowley in it. The thought alone was enough for him to snatch up his glass of wine once more and for it to understand that it had best not drain.

Crowley rearranged his legs as he took a long drink of his own. The bottle should have been empty ages ago but had obediently refilled so that neither of them would have to go through the trouble of fetching more. Again Crowley shifted in his seat, seemingly unable to get comfortable. Finally he made some vague dismissive noise.

“Not like we haven’t gone longer without seeing each other. I was just places, is all. Needed sssspace to do my own demony thingss.” Crowley waved his hands vaguely about him, sloshing a bit of wine onto the sofa as he did. A wave of his free hand and the stain way gone. “Nothing for you to worry your angelic head over.”

“That sounds precisely the sort of thing I ought to worry about,” Aziraphale replied on principle more than anything else. “Still, it is rather good to see you again, even if we have gone longer.”

He bit his lip and pondered the wisdom of pushing on in the direction he desired. He might not like what he heard, if Crowley was up to anything truly demonic, but he still wanted to ask for details. So much had happened in the decades that lay between them. A lively piece by Bach started and he was struck with sudden inspiration. He miracled his glass onto a nearby table and hopped to his feet.

“Do you know, I spent time in a lovely gentleman’s club some years ago. I learned the most delightful dance.” Emboldened by copious amounts of wine, he held out a hand. “Perhaps I could teach you? A way to catch up for lost time, as it were.”

Crowley’s eyebrows raised halfway to his hairline. His mouth worked over some unspoken response before he managed, “Didn’t think angels danced.”

“Well this one does,” Aziraphale replied with a proud lift of his chin. “Quite well, if I do say so myself.”

Crowley put his own glass aside and for one moment that was more intoxicating than all the wine in the world Aziraphale thought he was going to accept. Crowley had no sooner set his feet flat on the ground than he changed his mind. He all but jumped back, a sour look on his face. Aziraphale’s heart sank. It had been a silly idea, thinking an angel and a demon might dance together. Then something occurred to him, something that he really should have noticed sooner.

“Crowley, are  _ you  _ alright?” A small pit of shame burned at Aziraphale. Crowley kept asking after him, but he hadn’t thought to do the same until just now. “It’s only, well, you keep shifting your legs. And just now, when you tried to stand-”

He let the statement hang. Crowley wouldn’t thank him for pointing out a weakness, let alone saying it aloud. Crowley frowned but didn’t brush him off.

“S’nothing, really. The damned- blessed-” Crowley growled. “Whatever, consecrated ground. I think being off my feet gave them the idea to heal. Made them hurt more when I tried to use ‘em.”

Aziraphale was down on his knees, reaching for Crowley’s shoes when he realized what he was doing. “Do you mind if I-?”

“Bad enough that you keep thanking me. At least I can tell my lot I did it for the fun of blowing up a church. There’s no explaining away you healing me, or did you suddenly forget the whole ‘hereditary enemies’ thing?”

To be honest, Aziraphale  _ had  _ forgotten. How could he see Crowley in pain and want anything other than to help?

“Oh, just tell them… tell them…” Aziraphale screwed up his lips. He wouldn’t be thrown off so easily. “Say you bent me to your service. You made me bow under your wiles. But, really, it’s not like they need to know at all. Who’s going to tell them?” Aziraphale gestured around the empty shop to make his point. “And it’s not as though I’m eager to tell heaven. So come now, let me help. Think of it as an extension of our Arrangement, if you will. You helped me twice tonight. It only follows I should do the same, so we cancel each other out properly.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how he dared be so bold. Crowley was always the one pushing, edging ever further over the line drawn between them by the powers above and below. It allowed Aziraphale to be the reluctant follower- the good and righteous angel tempted to a bit of grey instead of the white that was meant to be his domain. Aziraphale would just blame the copious amounts of wine. It had nothing at all to do with a fervent desire to be closer to Crowley, to be the one to give himself for once in an act of service and make sure Crowley was unharmed.

"You've done a lot already,” Crowley said. His eyebrows knit and he tilted his head slightly. “Not worried about getting reprimanded again for too many frivolous miracles?"

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. Perhaps he, too, was suddenly thinking about… crepes. Aziraphale looked out the window.

"If you haven't noticed, there's a war on. I haven’t had the occasion to indulge in much in the way of frivolity.” With the war. Without Crowley around. 

"Right. Hell of a thing to wake up to."

Aziraphale turned back toward Crowley. "Wake up to?"

Crowley's voice was temporarily lost in a strangled string of sounds. He looked away. Looked back. "You know. This morning. Every morning lately.” 

“Ah, right.”

“Some of us sleep, you know."

Crowley’s breath came out in a shudder. Aziraphale could see him swallow hard before he looked away, perhaps searching for another excuse. Evidently finding none or- dare Aziraphale hope- wanting this as badly as the angel did, he nodded.

“Alright. Just don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t work. Already tried fixing it myself. Should know by now divine ssssuffering issss… well, wouldn’t be where I am if it was something I could fix.” Crowley squeezed his eyes shut but not before Aziraphale saw how the gold of his irises had started to encroach on the whites of his eyes. He pinched at the bridge of his nose and frowned deeply. “I’m gonna sober up. This is… don’t know what I’m saying anymore.”

“I’d best as well, I think.”

Crowley let out a small laugh. “Would be nice if you didn’t try any delicate healing while plastered, angel.”

Aziraphale chuckled in response. “No, I suppose not.”

How he would manage such an intimate miracle without alcohol in his veins, he wasn’t sure, but he’d have to manage. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Crowley more. After an unpleasant moment of concentration, he was out from under the sway of the  _ Cheval Blanc _ . He could tell immediately when Crowley was as well because the demon’s languid posture stiffened. Without the soft, comforting curtain of drunkenness between them, they were both all too aware of Aziraphale’s position kneeling in front of Crowley.

“Right then,” Aziraphale said, clearing his throat. He let his hands hover just above Crowley’s ankles. “Shall I?”

Crowley’s throat bobbed. His wandering gaze hopped around the shop but was drawn back time and again to Aziraphale. “Sure. Yeah. Course.”

With as much care as he could, Aziraphale pulled off the first of Crowley’s black shoes. Crowley hissed in pain.

“I could likely do something to numb your feet,” Aziraphale offered.

“S’Okay. Probably shouldn’t have sobered up until this part was over.”

“Are you sure?”

“Stop fussing, angel, and get it done with.”

The sharp line of Crowley’s jaw hardened as he prepared himself for more pain. Aziraphale swallowed further protest and did as asked. He pulled off the other shoe. He set the pair aside carefully, using the time to brace himself for what came next. He grabbed the cuff of the first sock and peeled it downward with as much care as he could. Despite that, he felt where the fabric tugged free from burnt flesh and the way Crowley’s body tensed in response.

“Oh,  _ Crowley _ . My dear boy…”

The uncovered foot wasn’t a pretty sight. The sole was bright red and blistered where they’d rested too long on consecrated ground. He’d done this to himself for Aziraphale. Something tugged hard in the angel’s chest. He swallowed over the sob that threatened to escape his throat. Better not to dwell on that or any of it, for that matter.

He pulled off the other sock. The moment he didn’t need to worry about fabric getting trapped in flesh, he set to healing infernal flesh of ethereal burns. It was tricky work. The injury didn’t seem eager to be undone and all this had come from a few minutes on consecrated ground. What more had Crowley gone through? Aziraphale hadn’t let himself think much of what Crowley must have endured in his Fall. Thinking of that made it too easy for Aziraphale to consider what heaven might do to him if they ever found out what he’d been up to. But this wasn’t about him. This was about Crowley and what he’d suffered for Aziraphale’s sake.

Aziraphale handled Crowley’s bare feet delicately, examining the skin for any remaining blemishes. He lingered longer than strictly necessary. He wasn’t eager to break the dreadfully rare skin to skin contact but there was only so long he could keep up the ploy. Once he’d assured himself everything was well, he let out a weary breath.

“That will do it, I’d say.” He dusted off his knees as he reluctantly stood to take a step back and tried to tamp down on the quivering corners of the smile he sent at Crowley. “How do they feel, my dear?”

Crowley waggled his toes. “All better, angel. I’ll have to remember to come to you next time I decide to take a march down the aisle.”

Heat fanned up Aziraphale’s neck at that particular choice of words. “Well then, I’m- I’m glad to hear it.”

He wanted to tell Crowley how he felt and that he finally understood how the demon felt in return, that it was impossible to see anything else after tonight, and that he wished they would never be parted again, especially not after so long apart. But he couldn’t because everything Crowley had said before was true. Saving Aziraphale was a risk. Allowing himself to be cared for by Aziraphale another. He was mended in the moment but still at the risk of utter annihilation. 

Crowley started to pull his socks back on. “I’ll just be heading out then.”

“So soon?” Just a few more moments. A few more hours. That couldn’t hurt, could it? “You could stay until morning, if you’d like. Just to be sure your feet have healed properly.” They both knew Crowley’s feet were as well healed as they could get but the excuses were all a part of the old dance. Give Crowley a way to pretend to be selfish. Let him act like he was imposing on Aziraphale rather than accepting his kindness. It was usually Crowley doing the tempting- to food, to drink, to company- but Aziraphale hadn’t spent all those years upholding his side of the Arrangement without picking up a thing or two. “I have a bed upstairs that I never use anyway.”

Or, he did now.

Crowley stopped short of putting his shoes back on. He bounced them in his hand as he leaned back into his seat and rolled his eyes up toward the second story. “Well, if you’re not using it…”

“Not at all. I’ll have an easier time of it if I’m not worrying about you being out in all that.”

“So what you’re saying is, I’d be doing you a real favor, staying here?”

“Quite.”

“Well then, I suppose I could stay,” Crowley said with a put upon sigh. “Even things up between us. Do this favor for you so I’m not in your debt for-”

Crowley gestured down at his feet. He stood up and Aziraphale was pleased to see him move once more with his usual, peculiar grace. His shoes hung off his fingers on one hand while his others scooped up his sunglasses. Aziraphale reached out a hand, not far enough to touch but enough to stop Crowley. Crowley blinked at him.

“Sleep well,” Aziraphale said.

“I’ll sleep just fine as long as you don’t go trying to pull one over on Nazis again.”

“No fear of that,” Aziraphale replied. “Not for tonight, anyway. I’ll be staying right here.” He could feel his heart skip at the thought of Crowley staying the night under the same roof as him. In his home. Together, if only for the night. “May you dream of whatever you like best,” he added in a light, jesting tone.

Not a real miracle. A sincere wish and nothing more. He saw the roll of Crowley’s eyes before they disappeared once more behind sunglasses. “Sure thing, angel.”


End file.
